


Champions of Nothing

by spacemonkey



Category: Metallica
Genre: Angst, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 02:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5357294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey/pseuds/spacemonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was 3:42AM, and James had given up on sleep after Lars had burst in with that forced smile that was still hanging about.</p><p>Set sometime after Some Kind Of Monster, specifically the FUCK scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Champions of Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Written back in the good ole days of 2008

There was a sliver of light shining in from the window, a glow from the digital clock on the bedside table, and a set of white teeth gleaming above him. James guessed the sliver and the glow helped them gleam like that.  
  
It was 3:42AM, and he'd given up on sleep after Lars had burst in with that forced smile that was still hanging about.  
  
"You trust me?" Lars asked. He ran a finger up and down James' arm. No, not a finger, and James still felt groggy. It was cold, metal - not a finger.   
  
James frowned. "What's that?"  
  
"Don't you remember?" Another gleam in the dark, shining from the moonlight, and Lars kept smiling and talking. "How the fuck could you not remember?"  
  
James remembered then; New York, just after Dave had left. He'd watched Lars watch him in the alleyway with that girl. Cindy, maybe Sarah. She'd been all teeth and tongue, and a cocktease to boot. Lars had watched, laughed, and they'd both gone home horny.  
  
_"Do you trust me?"_  
  
Maybe he'd seen it in a porno or something, James had never asked. It wasn't really something you brought up, especially if you never ended up doing again. But Lars had been there with rope and a knife he'd found in the shitty kitchen - two forks and no spoons, but one hell of a sharp knife that nicked his arm just a bit.  
  
James had checked after, seen the marks around his wrists, his skin red and rough and starting to purple. The cut on his arm had stung, his lip where Lars had gotten daring with the knife had bled when James chewed at it, but his neck had been fine. James had stared in the mirror, looking for red lines, dents in his skin, anything that proved the night before had happened.  
  
His neck had been just fine.   
  
_"I could just turn my wrist the other way, and you'd be bleeding. I could fucking kill you right now, James."_  He'd laughed then, high pitched and giddy, and James had found himself laughing back. Nervous as hell, but still laughing because  _Jesus_.   
  
Lars had grinned as he ran the blade over James' lower lip, freaked out as he said sorry and held the tissue against the cut, and then calmed enough to keep the knife flat as it travelled back down to his jugular.   
  
_"It's cold."_  James had tried to think of something cool to say, something that would make Lars laugh and grin and look at him in such a way, but there had been a fucking knife at his throat. Cutting close to his pulse, so James had just blurted out the first thing he could, and Lars had stared at him.  
  
_"Fucking idiot."_  Lars had kissed him anyway, stinging at his lip but so fucking good, and the knife had travelled up, close to his ear, while his free hand went down. Fingers skimming his torso, further down.  
  
_"You do. You trust me."_  He'd flipped the knife over, hand further down, and nicked the skin just behind James' ear.  _"Even though I could kill you. James?"_  
  
James had kept that scar hidden, tried to forget about it and that night over the years. "Forget your rope this time?"  
  
Lars touched his face with fingertips, letting them slide down his prickly cheek before falling behind his ear. He found the scar easy, "that bled like crazy, huh?" and traced the small bump of skin. "Remember? I tried to wash the blood out of the pillow, but that didn't fucking work. Had to throw it out in the end." His teeth gleamed. "Should have left it for someone else to find. Make them wonder and shit?”  
  
“They’d probably think I had a nose bleed or something.”   
  
“Christ, would you work with me, huh?” There was exasperation as Lars continued to drag the knife, none of the fondness bullshit that had all but masked annoyance back in New York, and James was so close to bucking Lars off and throwing him out, door locked and all. He could do it; he  _should_  do it, but thought maybe that was what Lars wanted.  
  
Lars probably didn’t even know, just had stormed in with the half cocked notion that something was going to happen, and would it be awesome if he brought a knife like last time and –  
  
“What is this?”  
  
Lars faltered at the question, knife pausing on bare skin, free hand settled in James’ hair, close to gripping. James could feel Lars’ breath on his lips, close, real close, and his teeth weren’t gleaming anymore as he moved in.  
  
“Lars,” James warned, hand finally coming up to do something useful. He wrapped his fingers around Lars’ arm, loose enough. Wanted to say  _stop_  and  _work with you?_  He wanted to see the expression on Lars’ face when he repeated,  _what **is**  this_, when he tightened his grip and shook Lars hard enough to sting. He could hear Lars snap,  _do you always have to fucking fight me on everything_ , sense the door slam shut, feel hot breath on his face as Lars screamed  _fuck_  in front of everyone and a camera.  
  
Even now, James wasn’t sure if that had meant  _hate_ , or if it was Lars’ own special way of saying  _love is such a strong word_. Maybe Lars didn’t even know.   
  
The knife started moving again, down his neck, fucking freezing, and maybe Lars didn’t even care.  
  
“You wanna say something to me?” The gleam was back, Lars grinning like it was all some giant fucking joke, even when they both knew. They weren’t the type to joke and smile to keep the world. “When I could just turn my wrist?”  
  
James swallowed, his fingers still around Lars’ arm; tighter now, close to bruising.  _Do you trust me?_  echoed, and had to bite back his answer. The tiny scar behind his ear said otherwise, but that had been another lifetime. Lars swallowed his  _no_ , tongue slipping easily between slack lips and James thought  _I know this, I know this. . ._  
  
I hate this, as the knife nicked his cheek and Lars grinned.


End file.
